


Pit Stop

by Moosey



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek POV, I mean there is first aid and blood so..., M/M, Post-Canon, Slightly injured Derek, Sterek Week 2016, SterekWolf, Wolf!Derek, slightly gory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: Wolf!Derek shows up back in Beacon Hills, and he's standing on Stiles' doorstep.





	

He was crashing through the trees, no longer caring about how much sound he was making because he was safe here. These trees were safe, they settled him in ways he hadn’t realised he’d needed. His paws hit the ground at a steady pace, propelling him forward. He was leaving a trail of blood behind him, but he wasn’t going to worry about that right now. 

The soft loamy earth gave way to asphalt and still he kept on going, barely registering where he was headed. He stuck to shadows and made his way to the suburbs, trying to appear smaller just in case anyone spotted him. 

He could probably pass for a large dog, or at least he hoped so. 

When he arrived at his destination, he scrambled up onto the porch and butted his head against the door with a thud, straining his ears to listen for sounds of life inside the house. He could hear a familiar heartbeat, the sound of socked feet slowly descending the stairs; he hated the wariness of those footfalls, as though the inhabitant was in the habit of expecting danger on his doorstep. 

He scratched at the door with a whine, leaning down to lick at the cuts on his foreleg, lapping up the coppery blood. The door swung open, and belatedly he realised he probably should have at least tried to shift back, because most people would balk at finding a wolf on their doorstep. And there weren’t many people who knew Derek could full shift, let alone what he looked like when he did. It was too late now though.

“Oh my God,” Stiles yelped, dropping his baseball bat with a clatter. It rolled and hit the doorframe, even as Stiles was dropping to his knees without hesitation, cupping Derek’s face in his hands and lifting his head to look him in the eye. Derek blinked, the world a wash of different greys, and he was sad for a moment, to not be able to see that rich dark toffee colour of Stiles’ eyes. “Dude, you look like hell,” Stiles said, running long fingers through the fur around Derek’s neck. “And you have an arrow sticking out of your ass,” Stiles said, words coloured with slight amusement. “Oh shit,” he hissed, trying to shove Derek around so he could get closer to his flank. He failed, of course, because Derek wasn’t about to be pushed around by Stiles, injured or not. “Is it wolfsbane?” he asked. As though he actually expected a reply. 

Derek chuffed, a snorting sound that was the best he could do to convey that he thought Stiles was and idiot, and head butted Stiles, sending him toppling back onto his butt. Derek ignored Stiles’ outraged meep and continued licking his foreleg, feeling the slightly itchy irritation of the wounds closing up. 

“Dude, why are you all wolfed out?” Stiles asked, shoving back up to sitting. “Finally decided to just give up on words altogether?” 

Derek paused in his licking and glared up at Stiles, peeling his lips back in a silent sneer, gratified at the widening of Stiles’ eyes when he saw Derek’s teeth. Stiles shook his head and rolled his eyes, wriggling around onto his knees. “Snarl at me all you want man, but I’m currently the one with opposable thumbs and you need me to get the arrow out of your ass,” Stiles smirked, poking Derek’s snout. 

Derek snapped his teeth together lightly, but it didn’t deter Stiles. “C’mon jackass, you better come in,” he said, standing and holding the door open. Derek limped in, feeling a little sorry for himself but keeping his chin raised as he stepped past the threshold and was bombarded with warmth and scents that were so familiar to him it almost made him dizzy. He’d been roaming around for a while and hadn’t encountered anything familiar until he reached Beacon Hills, but even that paled in comparison to this.He followed Stiles into the kitchen, and carefully lay down on the floor, watching Stiles as he bustled around, boiling the kettle and digging out a ridiculously large and well stocked first aid kit from one of the kitchen cupboards. He was mumbling to himself as he worked, “grumpy wolf bleeding all over my floor, dad’s going to complain, and I can’t even make him clean it up because he’s a _wolf_ and can’t exactly operate a mop…” Derek would be smirking if his wolf-face would allow it, because there was something ridiculously comforting about Stiles’ complaints. 

Stiles pulled out white latex gloves and snapped them on his hands with a gleeful look in his eye, and grinned down at Derek. “Dr. Stilinski is in the house,” he said, wiggling his gloved fingers. He smoothed a hand down Derek’s side, the latex feeling like it was tugging at the strands of his fur.Stiles gently eased the fur away from the wound and pressed a gauze pad lightly around in a dabbing motion, just cleaning up some of the blood. 

“So is this how it’s going to be from now on? You disappear and show up every now and again with random wounds? Not that I mind, I’m glad you know you’re safe here but dude? You can show up when you aren’t leaking sometimes too, you know. If you wanted,” Stiles said, wetting a fresh gauze pad with antiseptic that was so stringent it made Derek’s eyes water a little. He chuffed, trying to clear his nose of the chemical smell. “Yeah, I know. This is pretty strong stuff, but Deaton said it’s always better to be safe than sorry, and Mrs. McCall threatened to kick my ass if I ever so much as thought about doing any kind of first aid on Scott without antiseptic first, even though you guys don’t exactly run the risk of infection or anything. And I’m so not about to incur the wrath of Mrs. McCall. She’s scarier than you _ever_ managed to be dude,” Stiles rambled. “Okay. Brace yourself, or whatever.” 

Stiles took a hold of the arrow bolt, and very carefully gave it a little wiggle, checking it wasn’t embedded in any bone. Derek didn’t much care either way, he just wanted it out of him. He grumbled deep in his chest, trying not to whimper at the pain radiating from the wound. “Cool, cool, cool,” Stiles hummed, a litany under his breath. He didn’t seem aware of the fact he was speaking, but if it was keeping him calm and focused, who was Derek to complain. Stiles gave the arrow an experimental tug, shocking a snarl from Derek. “Holy wow, okay, not just going to try tugging this out then,” Stiles said. “Oh God, I’m going to have to stick my fingers in aren’t I,” Stiles bemoaned, face all scrunched up in a grimace. “You owe me so big,” he said, closing his eyes and visibly steeling himself. Derek was doing something similar, preparing himself for the pain of it all. And God did it hurt. Stiles somehow slid a finger alongside the shaft of the arrow, until he reached the head of it, and in a painstakingly slow series of incremental shifts, he worked the arrow back out, mostly following the path of entry but occasionally causing new rips in Derek’s flesh. 

He wasn’t going to hold that against Stiles though. 

“Did you know,” Stiles said, voice slightly thready. “That pulling an arrow out is actually a really bad idea. Because if they’re made old school, the head of the arrow and the shaft can begin to separate, as soon as the bonding agent gets wet, which, you know, blood will be soaking it. So your blood can literally work to make the arrow head come free, and pulling the shaft will leave it lodged all up in you somewhere, and then infection and necrosis and pus will all set in and kill you. Not you you, I mean you’d probably be fine, but people. Human type people… Oh my God it’s out,” Stiles breathed, plopping back onto his butt and dropping the bloody arrow onto the floor. He took a moment, and peered down at the arrow; it was moulded out of a single piece of metal from the looks of things. “Well huh. I could have just yanked it out then,” Stiles said with a shrug. He pulled off the gloves and dropped them on the floor too. 

Derek could feel his muscle knitting back together, the last of his wounds finally healing. He felt tired though, had been on the move for a while now. Not running or fleeing, but just exploring and getting himself acquainted with his wolf form, when he’d come across a group of hunters who’d been quick to take potshots at him, and decided a wolf pelt would be a worthwhile prize. He’s been close by anyway, so they’d followed him back to Beacon Hills. Derek knew Chris would take care of them, or if not Chris then Scott, so he needn’t worry about it too much. Coming to Stiles’ had felt like the most instinctual thing for him to do, and now that he wasn’t in pain and distracted, he realised he’d missed Stiles. Even his incessant noise and inability to allow even brief moments of silence were things Derek found soothing. 

Stiles was a little more still, a little more reserved though, which made Derek sad. He turned and shoved his nose under Stiles’ palm, felt a little prickle of pride at how Stiles’ beamed, quite obviously happy that Derek would let - even encourage - Stiles to pet him. 

“So is there a reason you’re all wolfed out?” Stiles asked, scratching at a particularly good spot just behind Derek’s jaw. Derek stretched forward and took the hem of Stiles’ shirt between his teeth and gave it a few little tugs, shaking his head slightly with the shirt in his mouth. He couldn’t think of a more obvious way to convey his predicament. 

“No dude, we don’t eat Stiles’ clothes. Stiles likes his clothes, intact, and layered,” Stiles said, easing his fingers between Derek’s front teeth and carefully pulling his shirt out. Derek blinked and let Stiles pry his teeth apart with his ridiculously delicate fingers, a little incredulous at how Stiles had literally just shoved his appendages in to the mouth of a werewolf without even a shred of concern. It warmed him, to be that instinctively trusted, even after the time he’d spent away from the pack here. 

“Are you stuck like this or something? Oh oh are you feral? No, because you haven’t bitten me. Or even really growled. In fact, you have a nicer disposition as a wolf than you do as a man, so really, I don’t even know why I’m worried about you not being a human. Wolf Derek wouldn’t threaten to tear out my throat,” Stiles said, grinning. “Plus you’re seriously adorable. I feel like I should be having a fear response, but I just really want to boop you on the nose.” 

Derek jerked his head back and let out a warning rumble of a growl, baring his teeth. 

“Oh come on, like you’re even a little scary to me. Fluffy wolf,” Stiles said happily. He darted his hand out and Derek barely had time to register the movement before Stiles had prodded him on the nose with a ‘boop!’ 

Derek snapped his teeth, and blinked owlishly. Had that really just happened? He was enveloped by the sound of Stiles’ raucous laughter, punctuated with ungainly snorting sounds, and Derek decided enough was _enough._ He shook his head, felt the rippling flex and release of all of his muscles in a sinuous movement, and then he shifted, limbs and bones manoeuvring within one breath to the next until he was human again and crouching by Stiles’ spot on the floor. He smirked at the immediate flush on Stiles’ cheeks, and the scent of embarrassment that flooded the air. 

“Oh my God! You’re naked, _why_ are you naked? Derek, why?” Stiles blurted, clapping his hand over his eyes. 

“This is why I didn’t shift back -” Derek said easily. 

“Holy hell you are _so_ naked,” Stiles stammered. 

“- But you just had to push it, didn’t you?” Derek continued, straightening upright. 

“Hey! I just pulled an arrow out of your ass,” Stiles argued, removing his hand to glare at Derek and immediately getting an eyeful of _everything_. He squawked and flailed around until he was facing away. “Oh my God,” he hissed, the sticky sweet scent of Stiles’ lust mingling in with the embarrassment that was coating the inside of Derek’s nostrils. It was a scent he had missed, so much. 

Derek laughed, and caught the apron Stiles had scrabbled around in a drawer for, and tied it around his waist just to spare Stiles a coronary. 

“I hate you,” Stiles groaned, eyeballing Derek in the apron. “How do you not look ridiculous?” 

“You’re ridiculous enough for the both of us,” Derek said with a smirk. “And you don’t hate me.” 

“Ugh. You’re right,” Stiles huffed, obviously trying very hard not to let his eyes stray below Derek’s collarbones. “Believe it or not dude, I actually missed you,” Stiles said, somehow managing to make it sound easy. 

And just like that, it was. 

“I missed you too.” 


End file.
